See You Again or maybe not
by Sirius Blaak
Summary: What happens when Erik gets mad at a talentless pop star for singing on his stage? You can probably guess. MAJOR Hannah Montana bashing, so consider yourself warned!


_So after a long, long rant about HSM and Hannah Montana with a fellow deviantart member, I felt it only appropriate to show the world what happens when such talent-less souls upset a musical genious by the name of Erik._

_Warnings: death of a child icon. sorry, i know it was a tad cruel... actually, no it wasn't..._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing!!_

* * *

Erik was dozing fitfully down in his lair, slipping in and out of his dreams. The noise of the opera house above him made it hard to rest; the footsteps pounded upon his head, making it throb.

He turned onto his left side, grunting and squeezing his eyes tighter. If only the noise would stop, then surely he would be able to rest. Unfortunately for Erik, there had been quite a bit of noise above him in the last ninety or so years. The owners of the opera house called it 'modernization.'

Yet even with all the distractions, Erik could not bear to leave his beloved opera house. It was true, Christine, Raoul, Madame Giry, and Carlotta were long gone, giving way to newer and more egotistical divas, and Erik had barely evaded discover at least a dozen times as electricity was installed in the opera house, but he still stayed.

But his days of tormenting the owners had never ended. Erik lived for the adrenaline rush as he slipped yet another note into their office under their very noses, and watching from the shadows as they searched high and low for him.

Unfortunately, the story of the so called 'Phantom of the Opera' had spread, and he had become little more than a legend, and all his tricks were taken as copycat pranks.

So Erik had resigned to live out his days alone under the opera house, sending the occasional letter, punjabbing the occasional victim, and singing softly to the ballerinas at night and watching them shiver under their blankets. However, once the opera house was no longer populated, Erik resorted to whispering in his beautiful albeit sinister voice while groups were on tours.

But it seemed that his remaining days were unlimited. It was now approaching the year 2007, and Erik was alive as ever.

On this particular day, as Erik lay in his bed, trying to sleep, the managers above him were running around frantically, trying to prepare for a group of apparently very important visitors.

Giving up his sleep as a bad job, Erik sat up, stretching his thin arms in front of him. He took a Punjab lasso from the table beside his bed and tucked it neatly into a pocket hidden inside the long black cape hanging from a jutting piece of rock on the wall. He donned the cape, and, deciding to go mask-less just this once (in his ancient age it caused his tender skin much discomfort), headed up to the opera house to find out what exactly was causing all the fuss.

* * *

As Erik ascended to the opera house's auditorium, one teenager and one adult were being escorted into the lobby by a rather breathless manager. The manager in question was short and balding, and looked as if he had been stuffed haphazardly into the tuxedo he wore. An elaborately folded handkerchief poked out of his jacket pocket, and his shoes were expertly polished. He was dressed to impress today, for he believed he had to look his best for his guests.

His guests in question? Hannah Montana and her father.

Both looked moderately excited to be at the world famous Paris Opera House. The pop diva had donned a simple black dress, for which the manager was eternally grateful (her usually colorful outfits caused his eyes much strain), while her father had opted for a simple suit.

The two were here for their own private tour, which the manager was ever so happy to give. Of course, he was not entirely sure why the pop singer and her father even wanted to tour an _opera_ house, but he wasn't about to complain.

* * *

While the two singers began their tour, Erik was prowling around the auditorium, watching and snickering as the stage (that had long been devoid of talent) was hastily swept. Erik was a bit confused as to why the stage had to be swept at this very instant, but was amused by how the man occasionally tripped over his own feet in his haste. 

Feeling slightly out of place in his current hiding spot, Erik retreated for the safety of box five. Somehow, sitting in this box always calmed him. He loved the secluded feeling it offered, and loved nothing better than to run his fingers over the soft armrests, remembering the first time he had watched a performance from that spot.

Still rather fatigued, Erik closed his eyes, his head falling backwards to rest on the back of his chair. He allowed his bald head to sink into the material, breathing deeply. He began to wander back into thoughts of his beloved Christine, recalling the first time he had heard her sing…

* * *

"Hey, Dad, when do we get to see the stage?" Hannah asked impatiently, seizing hold of her father's arm. 

"That's up next, darlin'," her father answered. "But what kind of tour would this be if we didn't see the lake?"

"But I don't want to see the lake!" Hannah whined. "It's dark and creepy and nobody likes it!"

The manager who was conduction the tour rubbed his head, closing his eyes briefly. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then opened his eyes again, wishing that the singer would disappear as he did so. Her continual complaints were getting on his nerves. All she seemed to care about was the stage (he guessed because she thought she would meet adoring fans there or something of the sort), and had no interest in the opera house's colorful history.

"I'll have you know that only a few select people are allowed down to see the lake, miss," he said, trying to make her understand how big of a deal this was. "Normally the tours are only conducted on the upper floors. The lake is such a subject of interest and mystery that it would be impossible to safely take tour groups down to see it."

"Why, because they'd all leave?" Hannah asked sarcastically, flipping her fake blonde hair.

"Of course not," the manager argued, leading the two down a new hallway. "Most people who want to see the lake are convinced that there is a so-called 'Phantom' living down below. We imagine some would try to explore deeper than is allowed and get lost. It is a strictly forbidden area to all unauthorized personnel."

"Why would there be some creepy phantom living there?"

The manager closed his eyes, desperately praying for someone to come and relieve him of his burden. This girl had obviously never been introduced to fine music, for she would surely have heard of the Phantom of the Opera if she had.

After much complaining, the three stood at the top of the stairs looking at the lake. The manager felt a chill as he always did, for he was one of the few that believed in the phantom (it was easy for him, seeing how he often heard a voice singing and frequently received mysterious letters). Hannah deemed the lake 'disgusting' and 'bacteria infested' and asked to see the stage again.

"Follow me," the manager said reluctantly, leading the two back up the stairs and headed in the direction of the stage. He couldn't help but feel his time was wasted on these two; almost every tour he had ever given had had at least one 'phan' present, who were dying to see the lake and had been thoroughly disappointed when they had found out they would not be seeing it.

* * *

_"You get the best of both worlds…"_

Erik's head jerked upright, his sleep disturbed once more. His eyes flew open and he stood up suddenly, as if someone had stuck a hot poker on his backside.

_What is that terrible noise?_ he wondered, clapping his skeletal hands over his ears. Someone – he didn't know who – was singing in his opera house. Someone who was not welcome to sing in his opera house.

Erik peered out from box five to see three people standing on the stage. The man who had been sweeping had left. He recognized one man as the opera house's manager, but the other two were strangers. One was a man and the other was a young girl. It was the girl that was singing.

_If you could call it singing…_ Erik thought, flinching as the girl belted out another verse to her song, horrible out of tune. Her voice was scratchy and she had an absolutely horrendous accent.

Erik's hand clenched on his Punjab, his eyes narrowing at the girl who was disrespecting his opera house. How dare she sing on the stage when she had no right to so much as open her mouth!

As the girl paused to take a deep breath, Erik half-sang half-whispered, _"Ignorant fool, you slave of fashion."_

The girl and the man Erik did not know seemed not to notice, but the manager did. He cast a wary glance around the auditorium, and hastened to usher the two off the stage. But the girl was not done, for she started yet another verse.

So Erik sang again, louder this time.

_"Who is that voice? Who is that in there?"_

The girl and the man heard him this time. The girl seemed not to care, for she simply said, "I'm Hannah Montana!" in a simpering voice and continued her song. The manager tried again in vain to move the two along, but the girl named Hannah Montana (Erik thought the name sounded ridiculous) still sang.

But Erik was not to be bested in his own dwelling. Slipping silently out of box five and making his way to the catwalk above the stage, he sang, louder than the girl, _"Beneath the opera house, you know I'm there. I'm always on the stage, I'm everywhere. And when my song begins, you always find, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind."_

The manager was trying to pull the two off the stage now, but the girl was resisting. She seemed entranced by Erik's voice. Feeling pleased with himself, Erik continued.

_"Please never sing again, you will regret. My power over you grows stronger yet. And though you turn from me, to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is now your mastermind."_

Erik drew his Punjab out of his pocket, holding his in a clenched fist. He was drawing nearer to the stage, where he held all three spellbound.

_"I am the Angel of Music. Come to the Angel of Music!"_

He was right above the girl, who was still looking around, searching for him. His hand gripping the Punjab was aching with the desire to toss it around her neck, to silence her forever.

With a deft throw, the Punjab spiraled downwards,wrapping around the girl's neck. She barely had time to react when he gave it a swift tug, lifting her up off the ground. The two men with her shouted, running forward in attempts to help her, but Erik pulled the Punjab higher, so she was out of their reach.

His scant muscles were screaming in protest as he kept pulling the still wriggling girl high and higher. He wanted her to see his face before she passed on, to see her shrink in fear from his face.

To his disappointment, her face was already lifeless by the time he grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her up to his level. He could hear the two men below still yelling, calling for help. He took the girl by the hair to turn her face away from him, but the yellow locks came away in his hands.

He threw the wig down below, where the man he did not know took it into his hands, sobbing. He threw the girl down soon after, though not before uttering a chilling warning.

_"I am the Angel of Music. Angel of Music, do not shun me. Learn from your strange Angel. _Nobody will ever again sing in my domain._" _


End file.
